Chapter 49 Forty Nine
“Just dinner,” Salvatore repeated, lifting his wineglass.
Mira eyed him suspiciously before reluctantly sitting and taking a deep breath before picking up her fork.
“I still don’t trust you.”
“I know,” he murmured, his eyes still on her.
“And I’m only here because Wingol makes the best pork steaks in the city.”
“I know that too.”
She cut into the steak, taking a cautious bite. A soft moan escaped her.
Salvatore smirked. “Told you.”
Mira glared at him while chewing. “Don’t look so smug.”
“You just proved my point.”
She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitched. Silence settled between them for a few moments.
Salvatore rested his elbows on the table, watching her. “So.”
She looked up.
“Tell me about yourself.”
Her fork froze halfway to her mouth. “What?”
“You heard me. I want to know who Mira Voss is.”
Mira swallowed. “There isn’t much to tell.”
“I doubt that.”
She shifted in her chair.
The conversation had suddenly become far more dangerous than she’d expected.
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything,” Salvatore said, his voice low, deep. He took another sip of wine. “Start wherever you want.”
Mira studied him carefully. She didn't know what to tell. She couldn't tell him who she really was
“You first,” she said, trying to control her nerves
“I asked first.”
She sighed. “ Well, there isn't much to tell,” she said, taking a sip from her glass of water, hoping that would push him off the question.
A low chuckle escaped him.
“You're stubborn, cautious, feisty,” he said, leaning closer. “ You intrigued me, Mira.”
His words sent another stretch of silence.
His voice slipped into her thoughts like poison disguised as honey. Mira folded her arms, trying to calm herself.
“What do you already know about me?”
Salvatore didn’t hesitate. “Everything.”
Her heart skipped. Everything?
Surely not.
A dozen things to tell flashed through her mind. There was nothing she could tell; she wasn't so sure he wouldn't go find out, knowing who Salvatore is.
Or was this some kind of test?
She forced herself to remain calm. “What do you mean… everything?”
“ Things I don't know?”
“What don't you know?” Mira asked, trying to find what he knows
I know where you grew up.” He counted on his fingers.
She swallowed hard. Typical Salvatore: he ran a background check on her.
“What else?” she whispered
“I know your favorite coffee order. That you prefer rainy days over sunshine. That you pretend not to like romantic movies. And that you bite the inside of your cheek whenever you’re lying,” he said, his gaze on her
Mira instinctively stopped biting her cheek.
Damn it.
A smug smile crossed Salvatore’s face. “There it is.”
She cleared her throat. “So… if you know everything…then why ask?”
“Because facts aren’t the same as knowing someone. I could dig up a thousand info about a person and still not know them.
His answer caught her off guard; she didn’t have a sarcastic reply ready.
“So…” he said. “Tell me something I can’t find in a file.”
She hesitated. She couldn’t tell him she worked as an investigative reporter. Not when she was investigating him. Not when every conversation, every meeting, every glance was becoming evidence.
So she lied.
“I did freelance marketing for a while,” she said casually. “ Now I am into PR. It pays the bills.”
Salvatore held her gaze for several seconds.
Long enough to make her palms sweat.
Then…
“If that’s the story you’re going with…” He cut another piece of steak. “…I’ll pretend to believe it.”
Mira’s stomach dropped.
“What does that mean?”
He smiled without looking up.
“It means I am patient when it comes to you.”
He finally met her eyes again.
“I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me the truth.”
A shiver crawled down Mira’s spine.
For some reason… She wasn’t sure whether he was bluffing. Or whether he already knew exactly who she was.
Mira swallowed hard.
There’s no way. He couldn’t know.
Anna had made sure her personnel file at TruthScope wasn’t accessible. Salvatore couldn’t possibly know she was investigating him.
Could he?
She straightened in her chair and reached for her glass of water, taking a slow sip to steady her nerves.
“You think I’m lying?” she asked, trying to sound calmer than she felt.
“Yeah.” His answer came without hesitation.
“And what exactly do you think I’m lying about?”
Salvatore didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he studied her.
His gaze lingered just long enough to make her pulse climb.
Then he pushed his chair back. The scrape of wood against marble echoed through the dining room.
He walked around the table with the same unhurried confidence he did everything else.
Mira’s grip tightened around her glass.
He stopped beside her.
Without breaking eye contact, he sat on the edge of the dining table, close enough that she could smell the cedarwood on his skin.
“What are you doing?” she asked quietly.
“You wanted to know what your lie is,” he murmured. “I am here to tell you that.”
He leaned in a little, enough not to trap her. Just enough that the world beyond him seemed to disappear.
His forehead almost brushed hers.
His voice dropped to a whisper. “You want me.”
Mira’s breath caught. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Salvatore's dark eyes searched hers, calm and unwavering. The intensity of his gaze made her skin prickle.
"You want me, Mira, and I do want you too… badly."
A nervous laugh tumbled from her lips. "I think you've completely lost your mind."
"Yeah, I can't help it with you driving me crazy." A slow smile curved his lips. "But I'm not wrong."
Mira shook her head. "I don't want you."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Then why are you nervous?" He leaned closer, and she could feel his breath on her face, warm and deliberate.
"I'm not," she whispered, barely audible.
"Your heart's racing."
A frown creased her brow. "You can't hear that."
"I can see it." His eyes drifted to the pulse fluttering frantically at the base of her throat before returning to her face. "Your breath stops every time I get close."
Heat flooded her cheeks. "That's because you're invading my personal space."
"Hm." He tilted his head. "That's a lazy lie."
"I don't know what you're on about," she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
"I disagree."
She held his eyes, defiant. "Not my problem."
"If you don't want me," his smile widened, "you haven't asked me to move."
Silence wrapped around them, heavy, thick, electric with everything left unsaid.
"Why is your lip begging for me to kiss it?" His fingers traced across her hand, feather-soft. "Why is your body screaming what your mouth won't admit?"
Mira leaned back in her chair, creating distance. "Your ego deserves its own zip code. That's your arrogance talking."
A quiet laugh escaped him. "What are you scared of?" he said, his gaze intense.
"What?"
"You're so terrified to give in. To let go. Why?"
Before she could answer.
His lips captured hers with raw hunger, cutting off her protest mid-breath. He tasted like coffee and sin, and the kiss was anything but gentle. His hand found the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair as he pulled her closer, deeper into him.
Mira's resistance crumbled. She met his intensity with her own, her fingers curling into his shirt as the kiss became fierce, teeth and tongue and desperate need. He devoured her, each movement of his mouth against hers a claim, a promise, a refusal to accept her denial any longer.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Salvatore's eyes glittered with triumph and desire. His forehead rested against hers.
His thumb traced her jaw, his gaze unwavering.
“Stop running from me, Mira. You’re only making me want you more.”